


Undercurrent

by GarciaVivar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coping with feelings, It's more about volleyball than relationship, Karasuno Saves The Gloomy Day, Light Angst, M/M, POV Ushijima, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarciaVivar/pseuds/GarciaVivar
Summary: After his loss in the national team, Ushijima Wakatoshi went on a quest to understand his hidden feelings. Help was found in the most unexpected place.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Kageyama Tobio & Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Undercurrent

**Author's Note:**

> A little disclaimer: I don't have much knowledge in how volleyball teams work, and though I've tried to stick to the timeline, there might still be some errors. Please disregard them. 
> 
> The story is set about a year after the third years graduate. It is also entirely POV Ushijima, so Oikawa didn't make much appearance...at all. Their relationship could be read as volleyball-centered and platonic, though in my head it is certainly romantic.

Granted, losing a game was never a positive experience, but Ushijima had long learnt to accept it. Shiratorizawa might have dominated Miyagi – if you overlook the one time that they lost against _that_ Karasuno – but they were not undefeatable. There were many other strong teams, and the further he went, the stronger his opponents were. When he was recruited by the National Youth, he found himself on an even broader stage of astonishing talents.

The challenge was exciting, though it did not bring a change to his heart. Being surrounded by stronger players – teammates and opponents alike – only meant that he’d need to work harder for what he wanted. Staying on the court, gaining points and winning the game. It was not complicated, and he trusted himself to be able to do that.

And he would do that. Ushijima was quick to establish himself as the ace in that team despite his young age, and had won them a number of sets and games in the tournament before they got eliminated. He did not feel terribly disappointed, as he understood that losing was an element of the sport. They gave their best, and their opponent was simply stronger. He had no regrets.

Never had he felt much regret when he lost a game. There were times that when he reflected on the game, he realised that he or the team could have done things differently, but even then, he did not think too hard about the what ifs. He was content as long as they could learn from the experience and put what they’d learnt into use in the next game. That was how they would grow, so there was no need to dwell on emotions.

But it was different this time. Japan had lost, and when Ushijima quietly sat on the bench in the locker room, shutting his eyes as strings of sweat rolling off his forehead, the ugly feeling reared its head for the first time.

He was no stranger to losing a game. However, he usually was not the one who’d cost his team the game.

Most of his teammates gave him a pat on the back as they got off the court, being compassionate towards their youngest player on the mational team. He was the first to get picked from the youth to join the formal in this tournament, and he couldn’t help but remembered how excited the others were for him. Hoshiumi was rather rowdy when he offered his congratulation, boldly claiming that he’d soon be joining them, too. Sakusa gave him a nod, looking very impressed. Miya’s eyes glimmered with ambition that he did not even attempt to hide. Even Kageyama was wearing that expression that would only show when he was genuinely excited about something – mostly volleyball related.

He wondered if he had let them down, too.

He wondered –

“Hey, Ushijima.” Someone sat down next to him. The abruptness shocked him out of his trance, and when he snapped his eyes open, he found the team’s setter smiling at him.

“Hara-san.” Ushijima sat up, straightening his back to greet the older player. He bit on his lips nervously as their eyes made contact, partially because he was still feeling immensely guilty for his disastrous spikes.

“I, uh, I actually want to apologise.” The setter’s smile was a tight one, “I know you must be feeling terrible now, Ushijima. I shouldn’t have pressured you that much.”

Ushijima’s eyes widened.

“No, I should be apologising, Hara-san.” He said sturdily, “There is no excuse for my spikes today.”

“Right, this is what I was worried about.” Hara chuckled, which was quite confusing considering that they just suffered a terrible loss, “Ushijima, I wouldn’t say that your spikes were not, uh, off today, because that would be a lie.”

Internally, Ushijima winced at the critique. Even though he understood that he didn’t do well, it still hurt to hear someone else acknowledge that.

“But that’s not the point.” Hara seemed to sense his distress, and quickly added, “We took a risk and it didn’t go the way we expected, but taking risks is always part of the game. It wasn’t just you. You see, coach knows that you are still working on your swing. We all know that. I, as the setter, am very aware of that. Still, we are willing to let you do it, try it in the actual game, because we know how powerful it can be when you succeed.”

“But I did not.” Ushijima casted his eyes downwards.

“And I am just as responsible as you are.” Hara sighed, “I tossed to you, even when I already knew that you were frustrated and hesitant. That was my fault.”

A sense of déjà vu washed over him as Ushijima remembered a similar exchange in his last high school game. The question took him by surprise, as Shirabu, the Shiratorizawa setter, had always entrusted him with his sets. He, just like the rest of the team, had trusted that he would always make each toss count with his spike, earning them yet another point, another set, another game. Ushijima took pride in being able to do that.

But it was also Shirabu who had asked the question. Ushijima-san, he said, my promise to put the ball up for you only stands when I believe you are still of use on court, correct?

His answer was positive.

And now, Hara was sitting next to him, saying essentially the same thing in a different way. He was apologising for giving him tosses when he lost his usefulness to the team.

It was just one game, but Ushijima couldn’t bring himself to deny that the thought stung.

He squeezed his eyes shut just for a short while. When he reopened them, he let out a small sigh.

“It’s alright, Hara-san.” He offered the setter a grave nod, “I will not stop working on my swing. It may take a few months, but I promise to make a full comeback before the next tournament.”

Hara laughed in good nature, and patted the young player on his shoulder. “Now, Ushijima, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure you’ll be alright. We all have faith in you, young cannon.”

That caught Ushijima slightly off guard. He nodded again, somewhat rigidly, “Thank you, Hara-san.”

-

“Once more!” He yelled, preparing himself to jump for another time. His concentration was intense as he waited for the sound of the ball being set, the sight of it flying right over the net, where he would be able to spike –

It never came.

He turned around, confused and slightly overwhelmed. He clenched his teeth and inhaled deeply, a technique to help him release the tension in his body.

The captain was standing there with his hand on the ball cart.

“I think that will be enough for today, Ushijima.” His tone suggested that there was no room for bargaining, “Coach asked me to monitor your training. He does not want you to push yourself too hard and end up with an injury.”

Ushijima frowned. He looked down at his left palm, which was flushing red due to all of the spikes he had done. He breathed again.

When the concentration was broken, his brain finally picked up all of the signals that had been sent its way. He felt tired and heavy. His back and arm felt strained, and there was a hint of dull pain in his leg muscles. Clear signs of exhaustion.

He could not believe that he wasn’t aware earlier. Usually, he was very in tune with his body during training sessions, adhering to the advice his father gave him. Ignoring these signs could be dangerous, even leading to injuries so severe that would shorten a player’s career. The mere idea upset him.

“I’m sorry.” He bowed slightly to the captain, “Thank you for the reminder, Takao-san.”

Takao seemed to be relieved. Perhaps he had anticipated more stubbornness from him, but he would gradually come to know that Ushijima understand the importance of health maintenance better than the majority of the players of his age, who could be too competitive, too harsh on themselves, and get nasty injuries that they would regret later down the path.

“I’m glad that you are sensible.” The captain smiled gently, “Also, I believe you are getting there. Your swing is already quite well-polished and stable, so I think it is time for you to practice more in action with the team.”

“Yes.” It was thrilling to have worked hard to break through a barricade, but more importantly, he finally felt grounded again, “Thank you, Takao-san.”

Takao stared him for a moment, as if trying to find something. He didn’t say much in the end, simply giving him a pat on the arm, “Now go home and have some rest. Get a massage if you need to. I’m looking forward to your performance tomorrow.”

Ushijima replied with another “Thank you, Takao-san”, earning a chuckle and a shook of the head from his captain. He did not understand the humour there, but he did not question it, either.

-

“Ushijima,” Takao asked, “What do you do for fun?”

The question came out of the blue. The captain came over to talk to him after the practice, complementing on how his new spike is becoming more reliable and consistent. Ushijima’s performance was satisfiable, he said, having improved significantly since the tournament with the national team thanks to the amount of time he put into practice, and Coach, along with the rest of the team, were happy for him. The conversation up to that point was ordinary, but the sudden change of topic disrupted the flow.

Ushijima paused to retrieve an answer from his memory. People had asked him that before, as early as when he was still in high school. The first time his answer was volleyball. Tendo laughed and told him he meant something other than that.

He had considered it. Sometimes he would read, and at home he’d also spend time gardening, taking care of his plants. He enjoyed those activities, but they associate more with “calming” than “fun”. The thing that was fun for him – that brought him true pleasure and excitement – was just volleyball.

He still provided a standard answer.

“Reading. Running. Sometimes gardening.”

Takao was giving him the searching look again, but soon dropped it just like the day before. “Good. Maybe you’d want to do more of those, you know, to distract yourself.”

It was confusing. “Why would I want to distract myself?”

The captain appeared to be at loss as well, as if he didn’t see an explanation as necessary. He was cautious as he tried to find the correct wording, “You know, you seem tense recently. Don’t take it the wrong way, your performance is as preeminent as always. It’s just – I don’t know how to put it; it seems that you are bothered by something. Maybe you should try taking your mind off of it for a while? Otherwise, it will show its impact someday, possibly at an inconvenient time.”

Ushijima quietly marked his words.

“Yes, Takao-san, I will consider it.” He replied.

-

In the security of his apartment, Ushijima allowed those words to sink in. He was afraid that there was certain truth in them, as even now he could feel the disturbance sitting inside him, like a brooding storm upon the tranquil sea. He had to find the eye of it and face whatever lied in there, though it irritated him that his thoughts only circled around, unable, or perhaps refusing to cut through.

Never did he appreciate metaphors.

He took in a breath, ridding his mind of the wild impulse of poetry. Whatever bothered him had nothing to do with his own capabilities, therefore, he was at a loss of what actions he could take. He had already been practicing very hard, and the result was a satisfying one. But according to Takao-san, the problem could not be solved solely by putting in his effort.

He swam deeper.

“I have watched all of your games.” His father said (for the eighth time, probably, Ushijima lost his count somewhere) when he was visiting him in America. “Now, how would you compare your high school games to the one we watched today?”

The practice match between the team he coached and another college club. Ushijima contemplated for a while.

“It is very different, I think,” he said, “From how we played in Shiratorizawa.”

“Yes, as most professional games are. I’m sure you have noticed that too.”

“I have. A lot of the teams in high school leagues relied on the personal abilities of one or a few gifted attackers, like Shiratorizawa. But in professional teams, most players seem to be more well-rounded. They don’t rely on a single player, instead, they connect.” Ushijima paused for a while, “I can think of a few high school teams who were like this, though the professional teams are much stronger than they were.”

“That is to be expected.” His father laughed, “So, anything you’ve learnt from that?”

“Winning the games,” Ushijima hesitated, frowning as realisation slowly dawned upon him, “Doesn’t automatically mean that a team is better as a team.”

His father gawked at him.

“Actually,” He cleared his throat, “I was trying to get you to say that you could rely a bit more on your teammates, but I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“I have always wanted to be an Ace that my teammates can rely on, dad, like the one on your team you told me about.” He replied. However, a part of his brain was still processing his new found realisation. His thoughts drifted towards Iwaizumi Hajime, with whom he had a pleasant exchange the day before. Then he thought about Aoba Johsai, and finally, inevitably, Oikawa Toru.

“I wanted to be an Ace who can win the game for – his team.”

His father smiled at him, proudly and fondly.

“And I will always root for my boy. Go and win the games, son, just don’t forget that you are never playing alone.”

In his bed in the apartment, understanding gradually seeped through perplexity. It was a helping hand that he needed, that he long had been needing even before that game in the tournament, which had only amplified it; that he had needed ever since that conversation with his father, since that realisation came to him. A helping hand to bring him out of this abyss under the water.

But it was also a hand that would likely never be extended to him, a hand that was so far out of his reach, across of the Ocean of Pacific. And that was why he never allowed himself to think of it.

The Ocean. It stirred up his childhood memories – of feeling so lonely and tiny in the darkness of his bedroom, imagining the Ocean separating him from someone who’d bring him comfort. In his bed he curled up and drifted to sleep, dreaming of the beats of ocean waves as they crashed on the shore of a foreign, distant land.

-

Ushijima found himself in front of a gymnasium building.

Its humble appearance did not hold a candle to Shiratorizawa’s massive, modern-designed gym. An outsider could hardly be convinced that inside this building they’d find one of the strongest Miyagi high school volleyball teams, but Ushijima would never underestimate them again.

Barren concrete was what he called them, and how wrong he had been.

He stood there with a slip in his hand from the front office, unsure of how to approach the opened gate. He could hear the noises inside – the sounds of volleyballs hitting the floor, the shouting of the players, the running footsteps. It was Karasuno’s training session, and he did not wish to interrupt them.

So he simply stood there, until a familiar figure stepped out, maybe to get his water bottle refilled.

“Holy –” The bald number five was so startled he dropped the bottle in his hand, “Am I seeing things or is Ushiwaka standing in front of our gym?”

He was loud enough to get the attention from everyone inside. In a minute, Ushijima found himself face to face with the entire Karasuno team, all crammed together at the gate.

“Hey, it is really him!” The overenergetic libero yelled, as he squeezed himself against number five, “Or maybe we are both seeing things, Ryu!”

“I think he is really here, Nishinoya.” The person who spoke next was not a familiar one, though he was quick to make himself known, “Good afternoon, Ushijima-san. I am Ennoshita Chikara, Karasuno’s captain. Is there anything I can help you with?”

In the background somewhere was Hinata Shoyo’s distinguishable voice, “I can’t see anything! You are blocking me, Tsukishima!”

A snicker. “Don’t I always?”

“No you don’t!”

“He just did, because you weren’t jumping right!” A grumpy voice.

“Quiet, or no curry buns today!” Ennoshita snapped. The threat worked, and he turned back apologetically, “I’m sorry for that, Ushijima-san.”

“No, I am sorry for interrupting your practice.” Ushijima blinked, paradoxically relaxing upon hearing the bickering of the Karasuno players, as he would usually feel stressed under such circumstance, “I am wondering if it would be fine for me to talk to Kageyama Tobio for a moment. It is – something about the national team.”

“Oh.” Ennoshita looked surprised, but soon offered a polite smile, “No problem at all, Ushijima-san. Our first-year setter could use a bit more practice. I’ll get him for you.”

He walked back to the gym, and the other players followed suit. He heard a bit of a conversation, and Hinata’s “What about me?”, followed by Kageyama’s “You aren’t on the national team, idiot!” and a “Can it!”.

Then, Kageyama Tobio stepped out of the gate.

-

The setter seemed troubled after he explained himself in details.

They were sitting by the sidelines of a nearby outdoor court. There were not a lot of people around. Considering the nature of his request, the privacy was something Ushijima could appreciate.

“I –” Kageyama pinched the middle of his eyebrows, “If I understood you correctly, Ushijima-san, you would like me to help you by, pretending to be Oikawa-san?”

That about summarised up his request, however, it indeed sounded somewhat peculiar when phrased like this.

“If anyone in Miyagi could decipher the way he plays and imitate it, that would be you.”

Judging by the look on his face, Kageyama did not consider this as a compliment.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong guy, Ushijima-san. My playing is nothing like Oikawa-san’s.” His tone was harsh, too. Ushijima was suddenly worried if he had offended his younger teammate.

“I apologise. I did not mean to undervalue your style, Kageyama.” He took a deliberate breath. Despite being an honest person, he found it incredibly difficult to let out his most guarded feelings. Yet he found the necessity to do so, as this was possibly his last resort, “I just thought that – you mentioned once that you learnt a lot from him in Kitagawa Daiichi.”

Kageyama was quiet for a while.

“My serves I learnt from him.” At last, he said begrudgingly, “And the techniques, yes. I observed him very closely. But what you are asking feel like something else. I don’t think anyone can copy that part from him, especially not me.”

Ushijima dropped his gaze, shutting his eyes in the process. He had never felt so vulnerable before, his strength draining, and his chest tightening by the second. It was to the point that he was physically unable to hold back anything anymore – for the first time ever, he felt desperate.

Maybe this was the real reason he had sought Kageyama out after all. He needed someone to talk to – someone who, though for different reasons, would hopefully understand.

“Tell me, then.” What came out sounded almost like a whisper, “What would he have done in that game?”

He did not need to be specific, and knowing Kageyama, he most definitely had watched it.

Karasuno’s setter was silent. When he started talking, though reluctantly, it was evident that he had put into much consideration.

“If Oikawa-san was the setter, he’d stop tossing to the player. He’d get you to do something else, blocking maybe, to see if you could stuff a few spikes of the opposite team. Once in a while he’d give an easy toss, between his sharp tosses to other hitters and his own setter dumps, and you would score with that, but you’d also be annoyed because you knew it wasn’t the best you could do. He is rather terrible like that.

“But when he’d feel that you are back on track again, the trap would snap. Before you realise what is happening, the ball would be there, right where you wanted to hit it. He made you want to hit it there, so you’d spike without thinking twice. When the ball landed, you’d notice that you have just made the spike that you’ve wanted to make the entire set. It doesn’t always go that way of course, but that is what he’d try to do.”

Between them fell the silence again, along with the tender dusk. In the distance floated the laughter of children, and over their head trees sang to the evening breeze.

A weak smile danced on the corner of Ushijima’s lips. He didn’t think Kageyama could see it, as it was hidden behind his palms covering his face.

“That sounds,” He managed to choke out the words, “Perfect.”

Then, ever so softly, “I miss him. A lot.”

He wasn’t sure if Kageyama would understand this part, for he did not know what playing volleyball with or against Oikawa meant for the younger boy. But for him it had meant so much. It was taking everything in him to cope with this – he hadn’t had his hope up high to begin with, but not being able to play with Oikawa Toru was one thing, and not being able to even play against him – it was eating at his heart.

He knew this would be the case someday. They both played professional, it would only be natural that they play in different clubs of different leagues, in different countries. They would not meet on the court once or twice each year like the six years in high school, the six years that now felt like a delicate dream.

He knew all along, but it did not stop his heart from aching. And yearning.

_“Hey, do you want his number?” Iwaizumi grinned as he pressed send on his screen, “Let me give you his number. Text him. Give him a good surprise.”_

_Ushijima declined, much to his dismay. It didn’t feel right, though, for he did not wish to be a prank call. Oikawa would likely block him after sending a capital DO NOT CONTACT his way._

_He preferred radio silence._

-

He walked back to Karasuno with Kageyama. In a way, he was aware how eccentric he must have appeared to be, but he didn’t have it in him to get concerned.

The setter ended up tossing for him for several times. It wasn’t surprising that they were _Kageyama’s_ tosses, not Oikawa’s.

He found it funny that even the pride had so much familiarity in it.

And he did not ask for their conversation to be kept confidential, because it was not necessary. Kageyama would not say a word to another soul.

By the time they returned, the Karasuno players were already packing up and leaving. That was everyone except for Hinata Shoyo, who greeted them by serving a ball in Kageyama’s direction.

The setter bared his teeth like a shark smelling blood. He went down for a dig, and once the ball was up in the air, Ushijima could hardly control his instinct to spike it back.

“Not fair, Bokeyama!” Hinata shouted as the ball shoot across the court.

“I’m sorry.” Ushijima apologised, “I will not further interrupt your practice. It is time for me to leave.”

He turned to pick up his bag, which he dropped earlier to hit the ball. Behind him, Kageyama suddenly called out.

“Ushijima-san.” He sounded a little bit hesitant, “Do you – do you still believe that Oikawa-san should have played for Shiratorizawa?”

He let out a shaky breath, yet the shadow of a smile lingered on his lips.

“No. I think not.” He replied, swallowing back down the rest of the things he wanted to say. The only one who needed to hear them was himself.

As he exited the gym, he could hear Hinata curiously probing, “What was it about Daio-sama?”

“None of your business!” Kageyama shut him off by hitting the ball across the net.

For some reason, Ushijima found a strange and warm feeling nuzzling in his chest. For so long had he been unknowingly struggling in the undercurrent of the veiled feelings, almost drowning in them without even understanding why. Now they’d finally surfaced – his head above the water, his body lighter, the fist gripping his heart temporarily let loose.

Peace had come to him at last. A compromised peace, for he knew perfectly well that he would not stop aching, yearning, and desiring. But at least he allowed himself to be, and that had brought him peace.

He decided he could live with that for now.


End file.
